


Immortal

by fairytal3catcher



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (but then again WTNV is unreality so uh), Aging, And More Angst, Angst, Death, Gods, Heartbreak, Immortality, Implied / Referenced Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Much death, The existentialism related to immortality kinda, Unreality?, angstt, just not graphic so dw pals, life and death, non-graphic suicide attempts, oh and also a marriage, spooky settings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytal3catcher/pseuds/fairytal3catcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil meets a woman who offers him immortality at no cost at all, to which he graciously accepts.  Cecil doesn't truly understand immortality, though, until he realizes that he doesn't really want to live forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortal

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Immortal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502181) by [WTF_Night_Vale_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Night_Vale_2017/pseuds/WTF_Night_Vale_2017)



> So basically I'm a masochist and I love to ruin my own life and now I'm sharing the love. This is inspired by a combination of listening to Immortal by Marina and the Diamonds, reading about The Picture of Dorian Gray, and window shopping at Forever 21. (Also, I may be on board with the headcannon that Cecil is immortal, but you didn't hear that from me).
> 
> I'd like to mention a couple things! Please check the tags for content warnings and be aware that this is, for the most part, not a happy story. Also, I think my beginning is a bit dodgy, but it gets better, I swear. I think that's about it, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

Cecil was fifteen when he started working as an intern at the Night Vale Community Radio station.  The reasoning wasn’t exactly clear to him.  He wasn’t the smartest in his class, or even the most socially adequate, and yet he was chosen.  The fact in itself was interesting to him, but he tried not to think too much about it.

He spoke with many people around the station and got to know about them and their complex histories or strange thoughts.  People he would otherwise be unable to speak to as a normal high schooler.  Such people included Station Management (which was a close one and after which time, he stayed far, far away from that door), the receptionist who rarely did any reception-ing, and even Leonard Burton himself, who was especially apologetic and open after asking the young intern to try to speak with Station Management.  One person he had seen but never spoke to was the woman who walked into Station Management’s office every morning at nine on the dot.  She was tall and wore high shoes, as well as strange outfits with different patterns—never the same one twice.  No one spoke about or to her, which confused him.

Cecil was a curious person and that contributed to his love for journalism.  To explain what he was seeing and tell others about it was what he wanted most to do, so having the curiosity to find that “what” was an important part.  He watched this woman walk into the office every day and made notes about the patterns and the ways she walked, but there didn’t seem to a pattern _in_ that.  She was unpredictable except for the way she would walk into Station Management’s office and the time that she did just that.

Frustrated with no one else seeming to care or notice her, he decided that he would forget about it (however reluctantly).  It was probably better to do that anyway—if everyone else was ignoring her, there was probably a reason.

He continued working at the station diligently so that one day he, too, could speak on the air and for his hometown.  Cecil even worked on his birthday and since it was a Saturday, he was there from nine in the morning until one at night with only one break.  It was a hard day, especially when he found he was the last one in the station an hour after Leonard Burton told him to close up shop.  Turning off the equipment and lights behind himself was unnerving (to say the least) because the darkness in the building was so inviting for death or worse.  He felt chills go down his spine as he passed Station Management’s door in the dark hallway on his way out.

Instead of worrying about it and psyching himself up, he took a deep breath and quickly turned out the lights, then grabbed his stuff and walked back to the front door, then locked it.  Not like anyone would want to break in.  That was probably certain death.

When he turned back around to start home, he found the strange woman a few feet in front of him and he jumped a little.  His heart started hammering in his chest even though he knew who it was.  “Uh, hello there!  I—I’m sorry,” he choked out as he tried to step past her.  She put her hand on his shoulder and suddenly he was as still as stone.  He wasn't hurt and there wasn't anything particularly terrifying about being held where he was, but it still scared him stiff. 

“Cecil Palmer,” she spoke, “happy birthday.”

If he weren’t at all afraid, he would’ve laughed.  Gods, of all the things she could say that could be scary or menacing outside the dark community radio station, she wishes him a happy birthday.  She was the first and that was nice, so there was more reason not to laugh. 

“Thank you.”

“How old are you now?”

“Sixteen.”

“So young.  Who set you in this death trap?”

“You mean the radio station?” he asked.  She nodded.  “My brother, apparently.  He knew I wanted to be an intern here because I like radio.”

She hummed as if she was understanding something more complex than Cecil’s employment.  “You will die if you stay here.  You realize this, right?”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be alright, actually.  I don’t think I’ll die.”

“There’s an intern death toll.”  It seemed like she should’ve laughed after saying that, but she remained stoic for the most part.

He laughed nervously.  “That’s true.  But I don’t want to die, so I won’t.  I want to do this forever, so I can’t lay down and die if I haven’t even gone on the air yet.”

“You want to do this forever?”

“I think so, yeah.”  He was sixteen, but working at the radio station was all he could think of doing.  He smiled a little but the lady did not.  She didn’t look all that interested in Cecil’s optimism.

“If I offered you forever, would you take it, Cecil?”

“What?”  She repeated her question.  “Forever?”

“You could live forever to do exactly what you want.”

Life in Night Vale prepared him for a lot of things, but he wasn’t sure if he understood what exactly was going on.  He was outside the radio station and it was so late, so dark, and this woman was standing solemnly in front of him, blocking his way.  Asking a hypothetical question about _immortality,_ of all things.  He tried not to be so rational.  It was just a hypothetical question, right?  “I think I would.”

“You would choose a life that never ends,” she stated more than asked.  He nodded.  “Cecil, do you _want_ to live forever?”

“Yes.  Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not everyone.  But if it’s immortality you want, I can give it to you.”

She was quiet then and so was he.  The night suddenly felt cooler than it had earlier.  Cecil didn’t know if he wanted to continue this conversation but he figured if this authority figure was standing between him and his way home, there wasn’t much he could do but converse.  “If you were giving me immortality, what would it cost?”

“Nothing.  It would be a gift.  It’s not often at the station we find young interns so dedicated to the profession.”

He stopped to think for a moment about how his life could literally just be day in and day out being a radio person.  That would be a really, really long time, but to be fair, at sixteen he really didn’t have a concept of forever, so it sounded cool.  “But why would you give me immortality?”

“If I possess this ability, why not?”

“Fair enough."  He took a moment to think of any other questions he had and realized just how young he was.  Could he _deal_ with being sixteen the rest of his life?  "Would I be sixteen forever?”

“No. You would stop aging at thirty-five. Fate is kinder than to leave you as a child.”

“What if I die before I reach that age, though?”

“You won’t.”

There was another silence and he felt nervous and at the same time, so excited.  He was going to live _forever_.  How cool was that?

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked then, nervous for what he was about to ask.  Cecil _had_ to know, though. 

“It’s only fair.”

“No one talks about you... who _are_ you?”

“I'm Station Management.”

“Whoa.”

“You won’t remember me telling you this tomorrow, though.”

“Oh.”  At least he knew for the time being, he guessed.

“Do you want to live forever, Cecil?”

He nodded his head, saying, “I want to live forever,” and the woman placed a hand on his cheek.  She hummed something and her eyes glowed. Cecil wanted to look away but didn’t, partly out of fear, but partly because he was intrigued by this ritual.  It wasn't every day that he got to experience something like this.  After a few anti-climatic moments, she removed her hand from his face and nodded.  Nothing felt too different but as she walked away, he thanked her.  As if she cared, that is.  He imagined she didn’t care all that much, really.  And in another moment, he was staring out at the desert and wondered why he was still standing on the porch of the community radio station.

He started to walk back to the road and noticed that it was later than when he had left the station.  As a good citizen did, he ignored it and tried to forget about it.  Something, though, was nagging at the back of his mind and he couldn’t help but wonder what happened in those minutes that were just a blank space in his memory.

There was no moment of realization in the following months when he was supposed to die but survived.  When he was caught in a burning building and survived, he thought it was dumb luck.  When he got trapped in a cave with no exit for a couple months on a mission for his internship and didn’t starve, he guessed it was just his survival instincts.  Even when he fell off the top of the broadcast tower after trying to fix something for Leonard, he didn’t know what to make of it when he brushed the dust off of his shoulders and tended to a few cuts.

The bigger concern for him was that he would look toward the station management office at nine in the morning, see nothing, and not understand why it bothered him.

Years passed.  He went from intern to occasional broadcaster to the star of the primetime show when Leonard Burton finally retired.  The only weird thing that happened aside from his imagined invincibility was that on his thirty-fifth birthday, he got a card from Station Management.  It was the only time anyone wished him a happy birthday that day and he tried to imagine why they would give him a card that year after years of seeming disinterested in his existence.  There was no reason he could imagine.

Time was weird in Night Vale, so when he dated a man named Nick for seven years, he didn’t think a lot about how he hadn’t seemed to age much.  Nick had gained a few wrinkles here and there, and toward the end of those seven years, he found grey hairs every once in a while.  Cecil would stare in the bathroom mirror and try to find wrinkles or grey hairs, but there were none aside from the smile marks he’d had for years and years and years.  Nick talked about it on more than one occasion and Cecil said that his mother aged well, so he figured he would too.  His boyfriend was a type of scientist and didn’t let it die until the day _he_ died, which happened to be the day before Cecil’s forty-fourth birthday and a month before their marriage.

Cecil was distraught, to say the least.  He could no longer imagine being without his boyfriend because it had been so long and he had loved him so much.  And to die in a sudden lab fire?  That was horribly tragic and all he could feel was regret for not knowing.  He kept telling himself that if he knew, he could've gone in after him, but time was set.  Nick was dead.  Cecil spent months barely functioning for his radio show and the rest of the time drinking himself into an early grave.  All this talk of moving on because life in Night Vale was fragile and death came easily was malarkey.  He was drunk a year after the incident when he was on the roof of his apartment and he was definitely not sober when he fell off of it.  He was drunk when he shook off what should’ve killed him, and he was drunk when he went to bed that night, crying his eyes out.

It took a long time to get over Nick.  Eventually though, he finally was able to keep his life together after a _long_ time had passed.  Years and years and years.  So long that he would _think_ all the drinking and crying and depression and years would’ve marred his face, and yet there he was, looking over ten years younger than he should.  It was impossible, he thought to himself.  He couldn't still be so young after all of that.  Nick’s big issue with him (that he never seemed to voice) was that he didn’t age and there it was, right in front of him.  A face that remained young even after all the tragedy he had experienced.  He didn’t understand and for once, he hated it instead of repressed it.

Some time passed from there and he started dating again.  Most of the time, the relationships ended in breakups, but whenever they ended in death, he would die a little more inside.  It didn’t take a genius to understand after fifty years that he wasn’t going to age and that the invincibility he joked about really wasn’t a joke at all.  By the time he should’ve been well over one hundred years old, he felt like he had already died when he buried three of his lovers and had his heart broken by (or had broken the hearts of) countless others.

Cecil went through a time where he didn’t go into work for a while so he could wrap his head around immortality.  It was terrifying and the thoughts dominated his life--he couldn't do anything more than think about it.  He was going to live forever, in theory, and one hundred years was nothing.  Humanity had been around for thousands of years and he had only lived a fraction of that time.  He would go on to live longer than that, probably.  Forever.  There would be no real end.  He would just live and live and live and always be thirty-six or so.  He didn’t even _know_ when he stopped aging.  But he would always be in his thirties.  Never would he rest.  There would be no eternity for him outside of this existence and he would never get the luxury of ceasing to exist.

Sometimes he gave himself a headache thinking about the fact he would never get to see what comes next or know where his dead friends and family and boyfriends were.

As bad as it sounded, he started to become apathetic.  That wasn’t to say he didn’t love his boyfriends or friends while he had them, but he just got used to the idea that he would outlive them and that he would have to see them die then never see their faces again.  As much as he wanted to, he didn’t get too attached and he didn’t ask anyone to marry him because he couldn’t stand the idea of the pain it would bring.  Or worse, the absence of pain.

Because of that apathy, he tried to end it.  He tried to find ways to cut his life short or to start aging again by any means possible.  The latter was difficult because he didn't know who did this to him, so he focused on the former.  He’d learned that he couldn’t die from falling off of things or being starved, so he tried violence on himself.  He tried drugs.  He even tried to start a fight with the City Council (who he no longer feared after he realized they could do little more than physically hurt or mentally scar him).  There were numerous ways to die and none of them worked.  So he killed himself emotionally.  He would get attached and break people’s hearts and let the pain ruin him from the inside out.  Even as he felt like he was dying as the entire world was falling down around him because he was the one who destroyed the foundation; he survived.  After nearly a thousand years of apathy and trying to end himself, he stopped trying to die and started trying to live.  It took what he imagined was a millennium to come back full circle, and by that time, he truly believed he’d accepted his condition.

When cameras were invented, he took pictures with his friends and boyfriends to keep them immortal with him.  When they died, it became a lot easier to hold onto them and to stop feeling so indifferent.  For once, he was so glad he could feel devastation.  He just wanted to be human was all.  To carry on with this strange life and be able to feel it and whole-heartedly love the people who would leave him behind.  To always feel love and to understand that it doesn’t last forever, but that it’s okay.  The only thing that would last forever was him and that was unavoidable, but Cecil felt better when he would take the pictures out and remember his friends.

It had been thousands of years since he was born (he imagined) when he saw Carlos for the first time and for the first time in a long time, he fell in love instantly.  He’d seen his fair share of beautiful men but Carlos was something different entirely.  If it was the way he talked or the way he acted or even just the way he looked, Cecil wasn’t certain.  In fact, he wasn’t certain about a lot when he was around Carlos.  It had been a really long time since someone had been able to make him feel the way he did.

In comparison to the rest of his life, it was mere moments from first seeing Carlos that they began dating.  For once, he wanted time to slow down.  It felt like years when he would stare into Carlos’ eyes, like watching fireworks and holding hands, and that was something that had been rare.  He couldn’t remember the last time he experienced it.

Carlos taught him about true love. Whether it was through small things like cleaning up the pancake batter that one time he smashed the bowl or bigger things, like forgiveness after a particularly bad fight, it didn’t matter.  Everyday he spent with him, he felt like he understood life and love a little clearer than he ever had.  Carlos was unique.  He was special.  He took a lot more photos and videos with Carlos than anyone else before because he especially did not want to forget Carlos.

For a while, Cecil wondered if Carlos, too, was immortal.  Well, maybe it was just a lot of wishful thinking, but he still entertained the thought.  Carlos did a lot of things a mere mortal from outside Night Vale rarely achieved.  He lasted his whole life in the strange, deadly town at that point and when he interacted with the things that should’ve killed him, they didn’t.  But Carlos’ hair turned greyer with time and his eyes crinkled when he laughed, which crushed Cecil when he finally noticed it.  Only once did Carlos ask him why he didn’t seem to be getting any older and Cecil simply left it at, “I don’t know.”  Cecil never asked him about how long _he_ was going to live, though.  He already knew from the moment Carlos asked him why he wasn’t aging.

Carlos was his sunshine, the light of his life.  He made him feel warm and loved, unlike anyone else had ever been able to.  Carlos was his sun, and like every sun in the galaxy, like every giant star in the universe, he would grow older and older until he collapsed in on himself.  Until he eventually dimmed out and would join the darkness of the universe around him and cease to exist.  Cecil would look at him after the realization and just see imminent death.  He would see Carlos' beautiful smile and know that one day, he would never see it ever again. 

Carlos proposed once and Cecil said ‘no.’  His boyfriend didn’t understand, and when Cecil tried to explain, he was practically sobbing and couldn’t get a word out.  Carlos held him close and said that they didn’t have to get married if he didn’t want to, not then and not ever if that was what Cecil wanted.  He wanted to explain that there was nothing more he wanted than to say “yes,” but it wouldn’t make sense.  Carlos didn’t believe half of what he heard, it seemed, and as soon as Cecil would mention “forever” as a reasonable, real time, he imagined he would lose Carlos on the matter.

He only tried twice to explain it—the first time being one late night on their anniversary when Carlos was asleep.  He whispered what he wanted to say and it came out incoherent.  The words turned into sobs as he realized none of his situation made any sense and that one day, Carlos wouldn't be around.  He didn't try to work out what to say for a long time.  The other time he tried to explain it, it was many years later as they lay in the sand wastes watching the clouds on a cooler day.  It took a lot of thought, but he figured he had to say it sometime, so he did.  He said, “I don’t expect you to understand, but one day our marriage would end--if we had one, I mean--and I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Marriages are supposed to be forever, Ceec," Carlos mentioned, not seeming too fazed by the topic.

“I don’t want to go the rest of forever without you.”

Carlos was quiet after that and took his hand as they watched a cloud oddly shaped like a bear pass along the sky.

“You might’ve guessed it already, but...”

“But?”

“I’m not like you.”

“You’re not, and that’s what makes you special.”

“Oh, Carlos...” he blushed.  He was quiet for a moment.  “What I mean is, I’m going to live forever,” Cecil finally said.

“I think I _did_ already guess that,” Carlos admitted.  "How long has it been?”

“I’m not entirely sure.  I think it’s been at least a thousand years.  Maybe two.”

“Man, that’s a long time.”

“Probably not even a minute in comparison to how long I’m going to live...” he mumbled to himself.  He swallowed down his sadness and watched a different cloud.  He wasn’t going to cry.  He wasn’t.  He had had his time to be upset about how long he was going to live and so he wasn’t going to let himself get worked up about it again.  He just wasn't.

“If it’s such a long time, I understand why you don’t want to get married.  That’s a long commitment.”  There was no hurt in Carlos' voice, but Cecil knew better.

“No, no, it’s not like that.  I really want to make that commitment, it’s just... Carlos, you’re so special to me.  I’ve never been with anyone who made me feel the way you do.”  Cecil didn’t elaborate so they just watched the clouds a little more.  He saw one that looked like a wolf, but all the others looked too much like clouds.  Just clouds.  A tear rolled down his face despite his attempt to keep it together.

“I really _don_ ’ _t_ get it,” Carlos finally told him.

Cecil took a breath.  “One day I won’t have you any more and then I’ll never see you again.  I’ll have a ring on my finger to remind me of that.”

“Oh.”

They were silent for a few minutes and then Carlos squeezed his hand a little.  He felt more tears fall from his eyes but didn’t fight them off.

“Carlos?”

“Yes, Cecil?”

“Do you still love me?”  His voice gave away his sadness, and he hated it.  He wanted to be okay, he really did, but he couldn't be.  He couldn't handle it anymore.  Carlos turned to face him, almost looking shocked that he would ask that.

“Of course.  This doesn’t change anything," he said as he wiped away Cecil's tears.

“Really?”

“Really.  I love you, Cecil, and I will as long as we’re alive and even after that.  I think so, at least.”

“I’ll always love you, Carlos.  No one’s ever made me feel this way.”

“I’m happy I can be the one who does.”

Cecil’s heart was hammering and he rolled over and hugged Carlos, then placed a big kiss on his forehead.  Carlos laughed and kissed him back, and soon before long, they were tangled up in each other and watching the sky, still completely in love even after all those years.  He ran his fingers through Carlos’ greying hair and frowned a little.  There were still years, but there would never be enough time.

“If I change my mind,” Cecil asked, “can we still get married?”

“Of course.  Just let me know if it happens.”

“I will.  Thanks.”

When the day turned to dusk, they left the sand wastes and headed home.  While Cecil felt like he should be happy because Carlos listened, he still knew that there was no way Carlos understood.  Still, Cecil appreciated that he tried.  It was just that his boyfriend could never understand how it felt to outlive everyone you love and then outlive the new people you meet and fall in love with all over again just to lose it all.  He didn’t know what it was like to worry that in a thousand years he wouldn’t remember more of him than his just name.  Carlos didn't know and he probably couldn't even conceive the idea.  It tore him apart.

Cecil loved Carlos, though.  With all of his heart.  He couldn’t blame him for not understanding and he didn’t really expect him to.  All he wanted to do was appreciate every moment he got with the love of his life and be honest.  Cecil tried not to let time pass too quickly because for a millennium or more, all he had done was coast through time and await the end of the universe.  Now, he just wanted these small moments to take all of that eternity because he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Carlos.

Two years later, Cecil asked Carlos if they could get married.

One year after that, they were in white tuxedos saying vows and Carlos put a shiny, new, gold ring on Cecil’s finger.  He stared at Carlos a lot in the following time and when he wasn’t taking in Carlos’ image, hoping to burn it in his mind, he stared at that beautiful ring in the beautiful chapel.  They kissed and Cecil’s family (whether they were his real family or not, he wasn’t sure anymore) as well as practically the entire town cheered.  They stared into each other's eyes and all Cecil could see was a future with his husband.  His stomach was full of butterflies and his heart was beating out of his chest as he held onto Carlos and tried not to let the moment pass.  Cecil cried and Carlos held him close as they walked down the aisle.

As Carlos continued to age, Cecil gradually started to dye his hair greyer.  The lady at the drugstore looked at him confusedly as he picked up boxes of hair dye, but it didn’t matter.  When he would sit next to Carlos and pretend that they were just a normal couple growing old together, any weird looks were worth it.  Carlos noticed at one point and asked what was going on, almost excited.  Cecil knew that Carlos was hoping he was finally catching up, but he didn’t lie.  Carlos seemed a little disappointed for him, but was patient with him, as always.

Cecil was patient, too--especially when Carlos got too old to be working in the lab. Carlos would pace around the house, antsy and wanting to do something, but he didn’t know what. Cecil would give him book upon book (after realizing he was even impervious to the librarians, he made many trips to the local library) and help him out with field work.  And when it was too late to do that, he watched weird telenovelas with him even though he hardly understood anything more than ‘ _mi amor_ ’ and ‘ _te_ _amo_ ’ and ‘ _querido_.’  He took care of his love and took more and more pictures, knowing what was coming soon.  Whereas he had a single box full of pictures of his old friends and boyfriends, Carlos had his own box, filled to the brim with polaroids and CDs and momentos.  Of all the people Cecil had had the pleasure of meeting, Carlos was easily the most special to him.  He didn't want to forget anything.

The town was silent the week Carlos died.  He held Carlos’ hand as he was falling from existence and they shared stories about their time with each other.  Carlos told Cecil that he loved him and that was the last time he had ever heard from him.  Cecil clutched his hand and tried to convince him to wake up, that they hadn’t had enough time, that there was still so much living to do, but to no avail.

Cecil spoke at Carlos’ funeral, and then Cecil hardly spoke for years.

He often found himself playing with the ring on his finger and drinking.  Heavily.  There was no consoling him and really, he didn’t want to be consoled.  He felt like he had been killed and it was the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life.  It would’ve been less painful to _die_.  He had tried harder than he ever had in his entire life to leave so he could be with Carlos.  At one point, in drunken desperation, he banged on Station Management’s office and begged them to kill him.  When he heard a horrendous screech from the other side of the door, he almost broke _down_ the door, thinking that if anyone could end him, it would definitely be the terrifying Station Management.

An intern pulled him away and yelled at him to go home, to which he responded by breaking down.  He went to his office and crouched under the desk and sobbed for hours clutching a photo of his dead Carlos.  Nothing was going to bring back Carlos and nothing was going to bring him to Carlos and that was just what he feared when he realized how much he loved him.

Cecil spent decades recovering from the tragedy that was Carlos’ mortal existence.  Even when he gained some semblance, he was still always thinking of Carlos and trying to work past all the pain.  After all that time, he took back his job and carried on with his radio show like nothing happened.  Rarely did he speak of Carlos and even more rarely did he talk about personal matters.  Varying citizens asked him if he was okay, even after all those years, and he would smile dully and nod his head.  No one believed him—not even himself.

He wore the wedding ring every day for well over a century, never taking it off until he had the nerve to.  He'd grown afraid that if he took it off, he would lose it and in turn, lose Carlos.  Eventually, though, he had to.  At first, it was to clean it, and then later, when it cracked, he took it to a jeweler to fix it and was very adamant on it being taken care of with the highest level of caution.  He wore it all the time, otherwise.  He wore it when he visited Carlos' headstone and when he signed off the air and when he brought Carlos’ things to a pawn shop so many years after he died.

Life was so full of opportunity and as much as he would want to stay sad, he knew Carlos wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of forever upset.  So he sold off a lot of the things Carlos wasn’t using anymore so he could start to move on.  Of course, he would never move on entirely.  He would always be a widow and he didn’t want to be anything else for the time being.  In the meantime, though, he had to get out of his depression.

He started small.  Giving away a couple things here and there, going out to lunch with his great-great-great nephew, mentioning that he forgot to water the plants on air.  He started to wear his favorite colors every once in a while and combed out his hair (long since returned to its natural color).  He made his and Carlos’ favorite dinner and watched science documentaries without getting too upset.  And then before the ring cracked again, he was dancing out in bars every once in a while again and laughing about something silly an intern sent him on facebook.

He stood over Carlos’ grave one Sunday and placed silk flowers by the headstone.  “They’ll last forever,” he said to no one in particular.  “I’ll love you for that long, too.” For once, he didn’t cry.

Time passed weirdly, as it tended to.  That was, Cecil managed to spend over a thousand years going through the motions without too much disturbance.  He made friends and spoke on the radio, as well as traveled outside of Night Vale to see some new places (like _two_ mountains).  He didn’t fear Night Vale and though he wasn’t begging for death, he didn’t care if those things he should’ve feared killed him.  And anyway, his wedding ring was getting close to falling apart despite the way he had been taking care of it.  He didn’t want to keep fixing it.  Cecil even mentioned it on the air, as if the people listening were his confidants.  No one ever talked to him about it.

Cecil broadcasted when he turned 39, and he was broadcasting when the radio was invented, and Cecil broadcasted when he lost a great friend, and Cecil was broadcasting when the world ended, and Cecil broadcasted when Night Vale built itself from the ashes, and Cecil broadcasted when it turned out not to be real at all, and Cecil was broadcasting when Carlos came into town, and he broadcasted when his life ended, and Cecil would broadcast when his life ended too, he imagined.

And so he sat in his booth staring at the walls that had been there for millennia.  As much as he wanted to hate this place for being his only life, he couldn’t.  He couldn’t bring himself to hate the only thing that stayed constant throughout his very long life.  Anyway, he couldn’t imagine or remember a life when he _wasn_ ’ _t_ on radio.  It had to be important if it was all he could remember doing.  He stared at the walls and felt nostalgia for the millions of times he sat in that booth and spoke about the daily terror on the town.  It wasn’t something he really wanted to think about, though.

“Mr. Palmer?”

He turned around to see a young intern nervously watching him.  “Yes?”

“You’ve been here for hours.  I was going to close up for the night because the normal graveyard shift guy is out tonight.”

He smiled a little.  “When you get to be as old as I am, a few hours is nothing.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”  The intern didn’t look like she believed him for one reason or another.  He almost wanted to look into a mirror to see if he had finally aged (maybe there was a new wrinkle or his hair had gotten grey without his knowledge) but he knew he shouldn’t.  It would just be disappointing when he would find the same thirty-something year old Cecil staring back at him.  “Do you really want to know?”

She pressed her lips together like she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to, but then nodded.

“A couple thousand years.”

“No way.”

“I am. I wish I wasn’t.”

“I hope that one day I can be as old as you.  You must’ve done so much with your life so far!  Or at least, had the opportunity to do a lot!”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said as he put his jacket on and turned off the light in his office, giving one more glance to the old photo of Carlos on his desk.  He walked out of the office with the intern.

“I can’t believe that.  It sounds like the coolest thing ever.”

He looked down at the ring on his finger he would have to have fixed by the jeweler again.  “I guess it’s kind of cool.  I got to meet the love of my life because I was alive for longer than 80 years.”

“You should go home to him.”

“I wish I could.”

They both turned out the lights in the building and walked out the front door in near silence.  When they got out into the night, she still looked so youthful and excited to be an intern of all things.  Didn’t she know about the intern death toll?  It was thousands upon thousands of names long at that point, he figured.

“Thanks for helping me out, Mr. Palmer.”

“It’s no problem.  I remember being a young intern and having to do stuff like this by myself,” he lied.  “It can be scary in the station late at night.”

“You got that right.  I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow.  Drive safe,” he told her.  Instead of starting home, he took a few steps out and laid out in the sand so he could watch the void.  It was especially dark that night with few stars above.  He wondered if when the world ended what would become of him.  Would he survive out in the void?  Or would fate be kinder than to leave him trapped in the darkness with absolutely nothing?  He figured not.  Fate was kind enough to let him watch everyone he loved die, and that number, too, was up in the thousands.

He imagined floating, trapped, in space and watching stars too far away from him move closer and further away in the form of red and blue light as he clutched a cracked wedding ring.

He looked back to the dark station and then something clicked.

Cecil went back inside the building and stood in front of Station Management’s door in the dark, only the light inside the office illuminating any space.  He hadn’t been afraid of station management in such a long time, he thought as he knocked on the door.  There was a typical hideous shriek and then the sound of some things falling off a desk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cecil said to the office.  “It’s me.  I wanted to talk.  Like, actually talk.”

Station Management was quiet.

“I can talk through the door if you want, but I know you.  You don’t have to hide.”

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but it was a considerable amount of time.  He didn’t leave.  Finally, the door creaked open and for once, he _did_ feel fear.  It was small—not a kind of mortal peril that left many crippled with anxiety—kind of like the kind someone gets just before they go down a hill on a big roller coaster.  He hesitated for a moment, but then opened the door and walked in to see an office a little bit larger than his with a familiar woman sitting quaintly at the desk.  It looked well lived-in with books strewn about and piles of paper in various places. There was a chair across from her and he took it, hearing it creak from years of disuse.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” he told her, as if _years_ encompassed the right sentiment.

“It has been a long time,” she agreed.  “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“I’m surprised I forgot.”

She smiled a little.  “Don’t be too shocked—I didn’t let you remember.”

“Right.  I forgot about that, too.”

Station Management’s smile didn’t fade as soon as he expected.  She almost seemed amused.

“Don’t you get lonely in here?  I’ve never seen you leave.”

“I keep pretty busy with my work.”

“I know what that’s like,” he sympathized.

“What brings you here, Cecil?  And why aren’t you afraid of me anymore?”

“I haven’t been afraid for a long time, Station Management.  I wanted to talk to you about living forever.”

“Living forever _does_ mean living forever,” she warned, “and you asked for it.”

“No, no.  I don’t mean that.”  Again, she looked intrigued.  Maybe it was because he had grown up, or maybe it was because she was lonely.  He didn’t know.  “What happens when it all ends?”

“You continue living.”

“Even when the universe falls in on itself?”

“Well.  At that point, I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Cecil hummed.  “How old are you?”

“I’m older than Night Vale.”

“Yeah, but _how_ old?”

“Twenty thousand years or so, I think.”

“You don’t look a day over forty,” he complimented, offering a smile.

“And you don’t look a day over thirty-six.”

“Am I thirty-six?”

“No, it was thirty-five, remember?”

“Oh.  Right.  Do you know how many years it’s been?”

“Five thousand, today, actually.”

He thought to himself for a moment.  It was almost February.  His astrology sign matched up with that month, usually.  “Is today my birthday?”

“Yes.”  With that news, Cecil smiled a bit to himself.  He had forgotten that he had a birthday and that this, of all days, was it.  “Do you want a wish?” she asked him.

He hesitated again then looked at her, as if to ask if she was being serious.  She nodded.  “I would.”

Station Management smiled at him.  “You can have one, then.  Your devotion to this station over the years in spite of the time you’ve taken off warrants it.”

“What can I wish for?”

“Absolutely anything.”

“Can I make a joke?”  She didn’t look amused, but nodded.  “Immortality.”  To his surprise, she _did_ laugh.  He laughed, too, and they shared a moment.

“Oh Cecil, you’ve always been my favorite.”

“In all seriousness, though, Station Management, I know what I want to wish for.”

Station Management nodded.  “What would you like, Cecil?”

“Let me be with Carlos again.”

She nodded, understanding.  “In what way?”

He got excited and so naturally, he got ahead of himself.  “I would want to be with him for as long as I could if I could but I don’t think that that would be allowed and I don’t know who would run the radio station if I wasn’t here but that would be really neat but I would take any time with Carlos I could get it doesn’t matter I just miss him so much and—“

Station Management nodded and he stopped talking.  “Go to bed tonight, and tomorrow wake up.”

“Thank you,” he told her.  Cecil considered leaving but didn’t feel like he could go quite yet.  “Station Management—“

“We’ve worked together for so long, now, Cecil, and because you know me better, you can call me Agape.”

“Agape..." he said, though it sounded wrong to him.  Nevertheless, he continued with his question.  "This is going to sound really silly, but... are you a god?”

She smiled again, but didn’t answer him.  “Go home.  You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Station Management looked like she had never been asked that before and gave him a loving look before shaking her head.  “Good luck, Cecil.  Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” he said again as he left her office, then closed the door shut and walked out of the building for what felt like the last time.  Crazy how some goodbyes can play with your head.

Cecil walked home that night and saw all the arrows and stars in the sky for the first time in his life.  He marveled at it and made a mental note not to patronize another Steve Carlsberg as long as he lived.  It was a wonderful sight and as he walked home, it seemed to guide him to his door.  He felt a heavy sorrow for the fact he probably would never see the sky illuminated like this ever again, but knew better than anyone else that life had to go on.  He put the key in the lock and walked into the house, seeing piles of archaic CDs on the coffee table and the prized “#1 Scientist” mug on the top of the cabinets in the kitchen.  His house was always nicely furnished, but at this point it looked as well worn-in as he was.

He took off his jacket and put it on his couch, then turned the TV on to give some background noise while he made himself a cup of tea.  It was too late for coffee, he thought.  The news stayed centered around the current local trauma (a cactus appeared in the middle of the desert and wouldn’t say what its intentions were) as he got the kettle going and put in a bag of tea for his mug then another bag for another mug. He poured the water in and added just the right amount of sugar to both mugs and then brought them over to the couch, then he sat.

“Happy birthday to me,” he half-sung to himself as he sipped the extremely hot tea.  He didn’t care.  It’s not like it could kill him (even if it did hurt).  “All these years later and I finally remember Station Management.  I couldn’t even remember my own birthday until she told me...”

The news flipped to a local advertisement for someone’s _incredible_ invisible corn.  He didn’t keep up with names much anymore—it was hard to keep it together with how big the town had gotten.  He remembered it when it was just a little settlement.  Now it had its first building higher than the White Diamond Spire and a population that he couldn’t easily keep track of.

He tapped the edge of his mug to the edge of the other mug.  “Cheers to coming this far.  Cheers to living five thousand and thirty five years.”  He sipped the tea and thought back to when he started liking tea.  It was a little bit after he started dating Carlos, probably so that he could impress him or something.  It turned out that Carlos liked coffee better, but in his older age, tea was a better alternative at night.  “I’m going to have one hell of a dream tonight and then tomorrow, I can continue living as a timeless being.”  Just the thought but a little more sleep in his bones.  He was tired, and not just because he was sleepy.  It had been a long life and there was still so much more he had to sit through.

Cecil drank his mug of tea and then drank the other mug because if he didn’t, no one would.  Setting out another mug was another one of those forces of habit that just didn't want to go away.  There was a time where someone would celebrate good news with him, but that time had long since passed.  He put the mugs in the sink and walked back to his room and changed into his pajamas, then crashed into the mattress.  He pulled the blankets over himself and a pillow against his chest, then listened to the sound of the television in the other room.

He drifted into a restless kind of sleep where he got to see Carlos again, but only the picture of him he had on his desk.  And then, it was gone.

Cecil woke up with tears in his eyes and tried to get a grip but _gods_ , it was so hard.  He kept thinking over and over that nothing is promised, that it’s okay not to get everything you hope for, but all he had wanted was to be with Carlos again and there he was, alone in bed on the verge of the first breakdown he’d had in years.  There was a moment of silence before he started to sob uncontrollably.  He didn’t notice that the room he was in was not the same one he fell asleep in.

Cecil tried to wipe the tears from his face but more took their place.  So he put his attention elsewhere.  He took his wedding band between his fingers and twirled it until he felt the mattress dip beside him and an arm wrap around him.  A familiar, oaky voice asked him, “are you okay, honey?”

He looked up quickly and hiccuped from the sob.  “C-Carlos?”

“Hey, hey, it’s all over now.  It’s okay.”  He burrowed his head into his Carlos’ chest and continued to cry.  Carlos pet his hair and coddled him until he was alright again then kissed his forehead.  “Happy birthday, Cecil. How does it feel to finally be thirty-six?"


End file.
